


sometime remind me to tell you

by crownsandbirds



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Marriage, Recovery, Trans Ging Freecs, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: "Ging holds Gon closer to his scarred chest, his little body pressed up near his heartbeat. 'Thank you for being here,' he whispers, choking. 'Please don't give up on me. I'm trying.'"in which Ging breaks down crying in a kitchen table, accepts help, and finds something he couldn't see before.





	sometime remind me to tell you

**Author's Note:**

> "Imagine a room,  
> a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,  
> my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated  
> cities at the center of me, and here is the center  
> of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we  
> can drink from."
> 
> (saying your names - richard siken)
> 
> [this is a slightly different universe where Ging raises Gon with everyone's help]

List is the one who notices it. 

Of course it is. Ging could've lied to the entire world, could've looked in the face of God and told them that he was okay, everything was fine; but he will go to the grave without learning the precise mechanics of how exactly to misguide List into believing something that isn't true.

It's late, sometime between one and four in the morning. Everyone's drunk at this point, inebriated with expensive alcohol and the breathtaking feeling of satisfaction that comes with a job well-done, a dream achieved. The lights have been turned down low a while ago, the beats of the music reverberating through the walls and the floor, and List is drinking a glass of water because he's driving everyone home, and Ging, well.

Well.

"When are you going to tell me?" List asks, his insanely strong gaze forcing Ging to look in his eyes. 

List is their small point of common sense in a group composed of borderline insane people. He's considerate and smarter than all of them put together; he's sociable, just enough to make things work. He lacks just a little bit of human empathy, the perfect amount to fend off unnecessary people and allow him to deal with problems in a rational manner. He's obstinate and determined and frankly a sight for sore eyes. In the worst days, where it seemed like everything was going wrong and things were going downhill in a pace much faster than any of them could keep up with, he wore pressed shirts and suspenders and ties and combed his hair to the side and brought coffee to everyone. 

When Ging was challenged to sleep with everyone in the Greed Island team, List was the hardest one to bring to his bed. 

It was also the most rewarding, pleasurable night. 

List is stable and his eyes are impossibly wise and none of this would've been possible without him and his schedules and advices and patience.

It's because of all of this that Ging allows his hands to lightly cover his stomach, like he's been yearning to do the entire night. He looks down and says nothing.

List touches his shoulder. "Come with me," he says. 

He doesn't look behind as he carefully places his glass of water on a nearby table or as he pushes the huge door leading outside, but he does hold it open for Ging and then loops their arms together so they can walk side by side, and it's the most kindness Ging has been granted this last handful of months. 

List drives. He's a careful driver, as calculating in the way he shifts gears and holds the wheel as he is in everything else. Ging finds himself relaxing back on the passenger's seat, allowing his gaze to slide up towards the sky. 

He hasn’t looked at the sky in so long. The night seems infinite.

List's home is tidy and lived-in. It smells like cleanness and something sweet. It smells like a place someone could build a life in. The lights are yellow and pleasing to the eye. There are newspaper headlines and pictures taped to the walls from List's many, many jobs as a Blacklist Hunter, articles and researches about bloody murders and awful crimes highlighted with pastel colors. Ging can feel his shoulders relaxing as he's led to the kitchen.

List places a cup of coffee in front of him and sits down. He takes a deep breath.

“So, you're pregnant.”

Ging feels a lump in his throat. It's been  _ months _ , so many months with this little being growing inside his body and kicking his ribs throughout the night, the only human being in the world who Ging can't figure out how to run away from; and he has yet to learn how to listen to that word without feeling like he has been hit by lightning or sentenced to some unknown, terrifying fate. “Yes.”

“Okay. Do you want to talk about the other father?”

Everything in Ging recoils at the mention of that one person. He can physically feel his body rejecting their very existence. His hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, where his now-longer hair covers a scar left behind from where he was thrown on the hard ground. “No.”

List nods, his face the picture of serenity. It should be cold; it’s the most reassuring thing in the world. “Okay. I won't ask again. Who else knows?”

“Netero figured it out. If he knows, maybe Pariston does too, but I can't tell you for sure.”

List takes a careful sip of his own coffee. “Pariston Hill probably knows, then. But no one else?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Very well. What do you intend to do?”

Ging takes a deep breath. The baby kicks him. Sometimes it feels like it's fighting him for ownership of his body, and Ging is losing. Has been losing since its conception. “I don't know.”

It's hard to admit it. It's hard to admit out loud that he has no idea what he's doing. At this point, all he wants is to survive. 

List nods. “Listen, Ging. There's something you need to understand. Pay close attention.”

Ging wraps his hands around the warm cup of coffee and waits. It's all he's been doing lately. Waiting.

“I've known you for long enough to be aware that you don't stick around in places you don't want to be. And I respect you as a Hunter and as a friend enough to never demand from you anything you don't want to give, or to offer you things you don't want to receive. But this changes everything.” List extends his arm over the kitchen table, unconsciously reaching out to touch Ging. “You  _ need _ to let us help you. You can't do this by yourself. Even if it's on your own terms, even if you don't want to tell us anything other than what's strictly necessary, you'll let us help you raise this child, or so help me God.”

Ging lowers his gaze. List's eyes are too intense, his expression too determined. He’s too tired to deal with this right now. He bites his lower lip and says nothing.

A small, pale hand cups his cheek. It’s infinitely gentle. Softly, it coaxes him into looking up. 

“Ging, I know what you want from your life. I know this child isn't it.” List's thumb traces Ging’s cheekbone. An innocent touch, soothing. “I won't let your dreams go to waste. Let us help you figure this out.”

Ging breaks down crying.

It's three in the morning and his body hurts and his coffee is going cold and he’s crying, ugly sobs that tear through his ribcage and climb painfully up his throat. He's terrified. He’s  _ relieved. _

“Okay,” he chokes out between hiccups. List is petting his hair. He feels like a child that got lost on their way home. “Okay.”

List smiles and lets him cry all his exhaustion out of his body, fingers threading through his hair. It's the first tender touch Ging has been given in so long. 

When the tears finally stop, List takes both their cups to the sink and holds out a hand for Ging to take. “C'mon,” he beckons. “You can shower and sleep here tonight. In the morning, we figure things out. For now, you rest.”

Ging sniffles. “Weren’t you supposed to drive everyone home?”

“They’re multi-millionaire Hunters. I'm sure they can find their way home without me for once in their lives.”

That brings a smile to Ging's face. Inside his body, the baby kicks, as if reacting to their father, giving a smile of their own. 

-

The C-section scar is jagged and deep and painful. As soon as Ging strains his neck to look down and sees it slashing its way across his lower belly, he knows it's never going to go away. He's going to wear it as a reminder for the rest of his life.

He looks up at the grey ceiling again, the cold water from the shower falling on his face. Everything's hazy. He's not even sure he comprehends pain right now. The hospital bracelet itches around his wrist.

He wishes he could look at the sky.

It's his second day here, between these extremely white walls and dimmed-out lights. Gon was born the day before, healthy, if only a little smaller than most babies - 52 centimeters from head to toe, weighing just a bit under 3 kilograms. Ging wasn't allowed to talk at all throughout the hours just after the birth, and for that he was thankful - he wouldn't know what to say. There would be no point to it. He just held his baby when they carefully placed him in his arms, felt his quick heartbeat, his mind going blank. 

The love he feels is too strong to put into words, so he doesn't. For the first time in his life, he doesn't try to understand. Doesn't try to fight it. He just lies back in his hospital bed and feels.  

He does what they tell him to. Feeds him on the right hours with the baby formula provided by the hospital. Holds him when he cries during the night. 

Gon doesn't cry much. When he does, all he needs is for someone to hold him close.

Ging gets it. 

Only now did they allow him to shower. Apparently, it's supposed to be a hard task for people who go through cesarean surgeries. A well-meaning nurse and a couple of his friends offer to help him, but he waves them off. 

It  _ hurts _ , as they warned him it would. His legs almost give up under him at least three times, his weak knees shaking under the pressure of supporting his body; he grits his teeth, grasps the rail built in on the wall until his knuckles go white, and turns the water on to fall directly over his head. 

It's a relief. He can feel the corners of his mouth tugging up in a private smile. He's proud. He's proud of his baby, proud of himself. 

The day before, the doctor took a peek at Gon inside the crib and said, "He looks exactly like you, it's like you made him all by yourself."

Ging tilted his chin up. "I did."

They did this together, he and Gon. The two of them, through those long nine months. 

It still hurts. The water drags the weight of his hair down. He takes a deep breath. 

Earlier today, Netero and Pariston came to visit. 

Netero walked up to the crib, reached inside. Gon wrapped his tiny, tiny fingers around his pinky. 

"He's strong," he said, turning to Ging. "Just like you. I'll give him a license in 12 years, I suppose."

"He  _ is _ my son," Ging answered, stealing a glance at his baby. Gon had wide, brown eyes that looked at everything constantly. 

"That is some legacy to live up to, alright."

Pariston didn't say anything at first. He just pulled a chair and sat down between the bed and the crib, and stared at Gon as if he was a particularly difficult problem to comprehend, an unreadable expression on his face. 

Gon stared back.

"What do you want?" Ging asked, suddenly feeling protective. He wouldn't trust Pariston with anything in the world that he himself couldn't control directly, and he definitely wouldn't trust him with his son. 

Pariston shook his head. He looked at a loss for words. Ging thought he would never live to see the day in which Pariston Hill would be at a loss for words. "Nothing. It's just - I didn't expect this."

_ Neither did I,  _ Ging thinks as he tries to find the guts to turn off the shower and go back to the real world. 

-

Gon smiles for the first time when he's just eight days old. It's early morning, and he has just finished his first meal of the day. It's just the two of them and a swinging chair, the soft sunlight above their heads. Ging leans down to press a careful kiss to his forehead, and when he lifts his gaze again, Gon is smiling peacefully, eyes closed. 

Ging holds him closer to his scarred chest, his little body pressed up near his heartbeat. "Thank you for being here," he whispers, choking. "Please don't give up on me. I'm trying."

Gon keeps smiling. 

-

Some days, he just can't do it. 

Some days, his best is just too far from being enough. 

He can't get out of bed. The sunlight feels too strong, every little sound too loud, the day stretching impossibly long in its endless minutes and hours. The C-section scar itches with ghost pains that never really left him. It's too much, the world hanging too heavy around his neck, his ears ringing with awful thoughts. He looks at Gon and he loves him, but he  _ can't do it _ . 

It's in these moments where Kite comes in. 

Kite has been staying in the neighborhood more often these last months. They go to the closest supermarket to buy groceries when Ging can't find the strength to get a glass of water. They take Gon outside, pushing him around in his stroller and walking with him all the way to the park and back again, in those days where even the smallest beam of light makes Ging want to break down in tears. They deal with the teachers in the kindergarten and the doctor and her routine check-ups when Ging can't bring himself to look in the mirror for longer than five seconds.

More than anything, they love Gon when Ging can't figure out a single one of his feelings. 

"Kai-to," Gon babbles clumsily, making grabby hands at them when they enter the three-bedroom apartment with bags from the nearby bakery. "Kai-to."

Kite smiles, crouches down to pick him up. "Hey, there, you. How's my favorite little Hunter doing?" they turn to Ging then, their hat doing little to hide the soft look in their eyes. "Ging-san."

Ging gives a tired little salute from where he's sprawled out on the couch. "Yo."

Kite places a paper bag, warm with something inside them, on top of Ging's chest. "Here, eat something. Take a nap. I'll watch him."

As Ging sleepily takes bites of the croissant and watches Kite teach Gon how to walk, Gon giggling and screeching as he takes fast little tentative steps towards them, he wonders how in the world he ever thought he could do this alone. 

-

He takes Gon to Greed Island as soon as he can. 

Gon adores it immediately.

He looks completely at home in the green fields, the towns bubbling with life, the shore. He points at things and babbles their names in his baby language, screeches with delight when his feet touch the sea for the first time, builds sand castles with List, rolls around in the grass with Dwun, plays with the colorful buttons and funny screens in both Eeta's and Elena's stations. 

When Ging takes him to meet Razor, Razor puts him on his broad shoulders and Gon laughs with how high up he is.

"This your son, huh?"

"Obviously."

Razor smiles. "Will I ever get to play against him?"

Ging shrugs. "Probably. He is my son, after all. When that happens, don't go easy on him."

Gon makes grabby hands at Ging, who puts him back down on the ground. When the Greed Island team plays a mock game of dodgeball just for the hell of it, Gon chases Ging the best he can, keeping up to the best of his ability.

-

"I need to leave tomorrow," Ging lets out.

Gon is almost four years old, and it's the middle of winter. The Zodiacs are all eating together in the meeting room of the Hunter Association, and it's sometime after midnight. The reunion ran too late, too many important subjects to go over before anyone was allowed to even consider going home - they're all tiredly having a rushed, conjoined dinner, and there's not much conversation going on, everyone's throats sore from all the yelling and arguing that took place during most of the day and through the night. 

Gon is sleeping peacefully in Paris' lap. Paris, for his part, has his head lolling back from exhaustion, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his suit jacket having been taken off hours ago and forgotten on the back of his chair - still, his arms are wrapped tight around Gon's body, to keep him safe and comfortable. 

The Zodiacs love Gon. He's their little mascot, frequently the only fun, light-hearted part of all their meetings. His existence forces Ging to be around far more often, and he's just the world's most perfect child, according to all twelve of them. He's cute and playful, happy to play games with any of them or to just sit quietly in one of their laps and watch the complex political debates unfold. 

Ging's abrupt declaration makes Cheadle raise her head from where she had it resting on top of her folded arms. Paris' vacant gaze slides over to focus on him. 

"What do you mean, Ging?" Mizaistom asks, pushing aside a now empty bowl of food. 

Ging clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck. "Something came up. These burial grounds I really want to explore. It's something never seen before in recorded history, and I need to put a team together, and it's just -"

"How long?" Paris asks, cutting Ging's anxious babbling.

"What?"

"How long will you be away?"

Ging lowers his eyes. "Four months. Maybe five. I can't cut it short any more than that."

Paris shrugs, caresses Gon's little tufts of black hair idly. "We'll take care of him."

Ging is so taken aback by the ease in the statement that he finds himself stuttering a bit. "Y-you will?"

Cheadle straightens her spine. "Sure. He can stay over at my house for now, we'll take turns taking care of him."

Piyon stops her frantic typing for a second to consider him with her calm expression. "Yeah, Ging. Don't worry. We don't like you but we like the baby."

Conversation springs up to life again as all of them try to figure out how to best work things out to take care of Gon for the five months Ging will be away. In his sleep, Gon clutches Paris' bright pink tie in his hands. 

-

Ging leaves at sunrise, after dropping Gon off at Cheadle's house. 

He looks outside the window of the train he boarded to leave the country. After this, he's meeting up with Kite, staying with them for a week to figure some things out, then sailing away on a boat to somewhere far away. 

He's by himself in the cabin, his luggage between his legs, his coat drawn up around him. The world stretches out in front of him - for a blissful second, there's only him and the cold wind outside and the hunt, the thing he can't see yet, just outside of his reach, just waiting to be grasped by his eager hands. 

He thinks about Gon, maybe when he's older, maybe after he gets his own license. He thinks about where he would take him, all the places he wants to show, to explore alongside him.

He falls asleep lulled by the sounds of the train. 

-

Gon is propped up on Ging's hip as he opens the door to the penthouse with the key Paris gave him after he broke in one time too many. His baby is quiet, wide eyes looking everywhere as he takes in the huge, white living room and the glass and inox furniture.

Paris is on the dining table signing forms and permissions from the Hunter Association with a bright neon purple pen.

“Why is it that, every time I see you, you're doing paperwork?” Ging asks as he sets Gon down on the floor to explore the place.

“Someone has to do it. This is the paperwork for your third Star, by the way.” Paris puts away his pen and leans down to give Gon a high-five when the little boy quickly walks up with his pudgy legs to the chair he's sitting on. “Hey there, little man.”

Gon giggles up at him. "Hey!" he says back. He was slow to talk at first, but has been making steady progress. 

Paris smiles down to him and it's genuine and warm, the corners of his lips curving in uncertainty with how unfamiliar the feeling is to him, as if his heart isn't used to feeling tenderness. But then again, Paris has always had the softest spot for Gon, ever since the first time he saw the baby sleeping peacefully in his crib.

“It’s his first time here after a while, huh?” Paris asks, voice almost going gentle, watching as Gon pads his way to the fluffy carpet in front of the huge plasma TV. 

“Careful, Paris,” Ging says as he puts Gon's bag down on the table. “One might even think you want a kid for yourself.”

Paris’ smile grows sharp at that; he gets up from his chair, takes the steps that separate him from Ging, slides a curious hand down his hip, around the back of his thigh. “Depending on the father,” he drawls, sickly sweet, “I wouldn't be opposed.”

Ging slaps his hand away, ignores the shot of desire running down his spine. “Not in front of the baby.”

Paris takes a dramatic step back and bows his head in mock surrender. The sunlight pierces hard through the gaps between the blinds, and it makes his hair shine golden.

“Where’s my favorite little bastard?” Ging asks.

Paris sighs. “Somewhere ripping pillows apart with his mean little claws.”

After stealing a quick glance to Gon, who is thankfully entertained with making little nonsensical stories starring the porcelain swans Paris keeps as decoration in his center table, Ging starts walking toward the master bedroom. “I wanna introduce him to Gon.”

“Sure that's a good idea?” Paris calls out after him. “Prince might rip the kid's throat out.” 

Ging makes a dismissing gesture with his hand. “Nonsense. All animals love Hunters.”

"He bit the tip of the President's finger off."

"Well, he loves  _ me _ ."

"You're the exception that proves the rule. But suit yourself."

Paris’ cat is a grey Scottish Fold named Prince and he's the biggest asshole Ging has ever met in his entire life and Ging  _ adores  _ him. 

Prince is hiding under Paris' bed. Ging crouches down on the perfectly clean floor and extends a hand, waits until the cat walks up to him and nuzzles his palm, rubbing himself all over Ging's legs.

"See?" Ging says. "He's the best."

Paris scoffs.

It ends up that Prince falls in love with Gon as soon as they see each other. 

"Kitty!" Gon exclaims excitedly, shifts to stand on his hands and knees so he looks at the cat in the eye. "C'mere!"

Prince slowly walks up to him, sniffs, licks Gon's face once and then allows him to pet him. Gon is as instinctively amazing with him as he is with all animals he meets, his hand light and gentle as he caresses Prince's soft grey fur and scratches under his chin.

"Told you," Ging says, crossing his arms over his chest. "The Freecs family has a way with angry, spoiled Scottish Folds."

"Obviously we have to get married now. The only two people my cat loves in the entire world are father and son, clearly I have to marry into the family."

Ging shrugs. "I mean, we could."

Paris turns to look at him. "Are you serious?"

"Aren't you? Gon likes you, Prince likes us, the tax benefits are nice. The people in the kindergarten will stop asking me where my wife is. You don't bore me to death. I don't see why not."

Paris hums. "You have a point."

-

They get married in the summer. Gon is five and wearing a tiny suit to match with Paris' own.

There isn't a celebration, per se; they sign papers, and then there's a small dinner in the meeting room of the Association. Ging is wearing a white tank top and clean sweatpants, but he is wearing decent shoes instead of his Super Mario flip-flops and his hair smells of Paris' vanilla shampoo.

"It should be illegal for you two to join forces," Cheadle says as a way of congratulations. "The only thing worse than that would be for you to get divorced."

" _ No _ !" Gon yells suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks in the middle of his game of chase with Netero around the room. "You have to stay together forever!"

"Don't worry, kid!" Ging tells him. "Aunt Cheadle was just joking."

"Oh, okay!" Gon smiles and goes back to chasing the Hunter President, knocking into multiple Zodiacs' legs in the process.

Mizaistom chuckles. "Well, won't that be a joy."

Ging touches his wedding ring with his thumb, turns to Paris standing next to him. "Guess we'll have to find a way to keep from hating each other forever then.

Paris takes a sip of the drop-dead expensive red wine he chose personally for the occasion. He nudges Ging's ankle with the sharp heel of his shoe. "I've had to deal with worse, but that might prove itself a challenge."

"I won't go easy on you,  _ husband _ ," Ging teases, and that draws a peal of cutting-edge laughter from Paris.

"I would feel insulted if you did, sweetheart."

Suddenly, Gon crashes into Ging's legs, laughing and out of breath, wraps his arms around his knees. Ging instinctively reaches to touch his hair, ruffle his black strands and its green highlights. 

The windows are open. Ging looks at the sky. The night is infinite.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> everyone in the ging gc was in dire need of a happy fic SO HERE IT IS.


End file.
